


Graveyard Shift

by Hermit9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Benny Lafitte Lives, Benny has friends, Case Fic, Complicated Relationships, Long-Distance Relationship, Lots of OCs - Freeform, M/M, Post episode 08x09, The ghoul is made out of sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: Benny ran. He rebuilt a small life for himself, unremarkable, as normal of a life as anyone twice undead can hope for. He didn’t know why he was surprised that something came along to mess it all up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ajestice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajestice/gifts).



It was the water that drew him back. He paid lip service to the idea of blood, roots and family. To the idea of coming back to where he had started so many, many years and an eternity ago. But it was the water, deep down, that made him stay. It was in the air, so thick that walking felt like swimming, and in the raging onslaught of the storm surge against the levies. He had spent too long at sea, the land itched and rolled under his feet. And no matter what Dean said, “Vampirate” was definitely not the first or second thing one ever thought of. 

He liked the quiet evenings in the café, long after the rush had ebbed and gone out. They’re too far from the Quarter and its hoards of drunken tourists to be open all night. It was better this way. In the mass of the crowd there was never hair black enough, eyes exactly the right colour. But there were glimpses of a woman who could have been Andrea, alive, breathing, without a care on their inebriated minds. As she should have been, without the curse of his love. There were the men too, who for a second looked like they could have survived Purgatory and not left him behind on the other side.

A regular or two came in the last few hours for a warm cup and a blast of AC. Sometimes someone lost and thankful for the food. On most nights he was alone and let the time trickle through his fingers and he moved through the motion of the busywork. 

Benny didn’t bother locking the door when he went back into the kitchen or the storeroom. He was confident that he would hear anything with a pulse enter, and that the bell above the door would cover everything else. He finished restocking the juices and other bottled drinks in the bar back and straightened with a sigh.

“I’m half a mind to remind you that you should order something if you want to hang around,” he said.

“I’m the manager, not a customer.” She didn’t look up from her phone, flicking at the coloured light delicately with her fingertips. Benny understood the technology, but he didn’t trust it. It was a bit too close to something the Gentry would come out with. It demanded attention and interest at any moment and then enraptured the users. Emeline had been sitting for the last hour with her phone, though her shift had ended and she was usually long gone. He told her as much and she put the device down, glass against the table though she didn’t actually let go. “Ha. ha. You’re a funny guy, Lafitte.”

He took in her fidgeting, the tension in her shoulder, the staccato taps of her nails around the rubber case of her phone. “You’ve never babysat through me closing shop before. What’s really eating you?” 

“It’s stupid. I should just go…”

“But you’re not. So, out with it.”

“You’re going to think I’m being ridiculous.” She flipped her phone back over, poking at things with her thumb. 

In his experience, the best thing to do was to wait out the answer. Questioning the Old Man had lead to painful corrections and God knows pestering Dean about anything had been a waste of time. So he didn’t press, grabbing a soapy rag to clean the tables and chairs. He was done and starting on the floors when she spoke up. “I was hoping you could walk me home.” 

“You know I gotta ask why.” Benny looked at her, still holding the plastic shaft of the mop, water pooling at his feet. Emeline was his manager and his friend. Not family, never again family, because that was too much of a risk. He hadn’t thought about what he would say if she wanted to change any of those statuses. He’d move on, probably. Find another port to call home.

“Didn’t you watch the news?” she asked with incredulity making her tilt her head and raising her voice.

“Not if I can help it, no.” He resumed cleaning, spreading the sudsy water across the worn vinyl flooring. The soap had a strong scent, something chemical and astringent that made his eyes water. 

“I just don’t want to walk in the dark alone.” Emeline broke eye contact as she said it. She was a tough cookie, but she hated lying, even by admission. Problem was that she hated admitting weakness almost as much. 

“Sure, I’ll walk you.” He stowed away the cleaning supplies. “Still got half an hour before closing time. Want some herbal tea for your nerves?”

She spun the ring with the front door’s keys around her finger. “Good thing about being the boss. I get to say you can go home early. Let’s close up.”

“Hold your horses, give me five to finish up.” Benny kept his tone light, but he frowned as he looked out the painted swirls of the glass door. He could have sworn he saw someone there, for a second, waving at him. Whoever it was had left behind an impression of electric blue crepe and grave dirt. 

Emeline lived within a stretched definition walking distance from the café, mostly because she couldn’t quite make car payments and public transit was never good in the fringe hours. She usually made up for the distance with shortcuts through alleys and parking lots, but tonight she made them take the long way around. She clutched her phone like gripping a lifeline, looping around Benny to make him stand on the scarier side. Between her and the dark spots and the ambushes her mind painted. 

He didn't mind. Autumns nights were nice, colder by a few degrees though no time ever got close to being a proper winter. The dawn didn’t come noticeably later yet, but it came slower, lazier. An old dog stretching into the day instead of a love-crazed puppy that wanted nothing more than to shower you with bright affection. 

“So, mind telling me what got you spooked?” he asked as they turned unto her street proper.

“There was a murder, couple nights ago. The cops said the body was all covered in voodoo shit and it was creepy.” 

“This is New Orleans,” he answered with a sigh and the rise on one shoulder. “There’s offerings left on the Laveau crypt every night despite the security guards. ‘Creepy’’s half the charm of the town.”

“I don’t know. I have friends in the force and they’re saying it ain’t the first time they see this particular set-up. But the other times they’d been told to keep it hushed. It’s just dumb luck that some kid with a cellphone made some video go viral. How many people died without them telling anyone?”

Benny hummed and didn’t answer. He wrinkled his nose to clear the sent of rot and embalming fluid. Emeline wasn’t the only one out on the streets with worries. 

Benny wasn’t sure if Gary was his real name, but it had been the name of the face he had first met. Bald, with a bad comb-over, and with a jaunting stomach that belied a more-than-passing love for terrible beer. It was a bit jarring now to see him in a Sunday’s best dress in azure, with stark white hair pulled back by a more than a fistful of hairpins. Not to say that Gary wasn’t milking the soured church lady expression for all it was worth. Benny pushed him against the alley wall, pinning him there with one hand. 

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me around?” Benny didn’t dislike Gary. The ghoul was good company and didn’t ask questions about how come Benny didn’t have a nest or a mate. But the Purgatory-born paranoia never bled out of him, not as he rode out in Dean’s veins and not when he turned his back on the burning wreckage of his past. 

“Well a good evening to you too, Lafitte,” said Gary. “Your phone is out of battery or you haven’t been answering it. How else was I supposed to talk to you? Flag display from atop a cell tower?” 

“Messed up my charger.” Benny stepped away, allowing Gary to right his dress and smooth the few hairs that moved out of place. He knew exactly where the wires and the extra battery pack were in his truck, safely tucked away in a box by his lumpy mattress. The black unseeing screen of the phone was easier to face than the string of absent notifications. He hadn’t heard from Dean in weeks, and when he did it was always hurried. A handful of words doled out whenever his brother was out of earshot. More often than not echoing off the filthy walls of anonymous road stop bathrooms. 

“Yeah well, maybe fix that. I know a guy that sells cheap knockoff. Could get you a case or two.” Gary pointed further down the alley for Benny to follow. “As much as I wish this was a social call to come and play cards with the gang, I’m afraid we have business to talk about.”

“What kind of business?”

“Your lady friend isn’t half dumb. These aren’t the first weird deaths, we’ve just been better at cleaning the others up. If something like that gets left out too long, you get varmin.”

“Like hunters,” finished Benny. 

“Yeah. No offence and all.” 

“None taken.” Benny shook his head. A string of supernatural death would bring the wrong kind of hunter attention his way. “Show me?” 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The cemetery was still cordoned off with bright yellow police tape. It looked garish amongst the crypts and the climbing ivy, the weak plastic flapping in the wind. Triangular evidence markers littered the ground, marking every sigil and trails of blood, every shell and pool of spent candle wax. If the two uniforms left to guard the scene noticed one of the further crypts opening, or the two men walking out of it, they did everything in their power to ignore it. Some things were better left to ignorance.

“The body was laid out over here,” Gary said, pointing to the makeshift altar. It was built out of folding, plastic, sawhorses and a plank of plywood. “Only it was covered with a purple velvet table cloth.” Gary was back to wearing his middle-aged man shape. He had stashes of clothes and what Benny gathered were toes or fingers along the tunnels that had been dug under most of the city. Gary wasn’t the only ghoul around, but the community seemed to have a strong honour system when it came to personal supplies. 

“Did they figure out the blood’s not human?” Benny crouched and crumbled some of the dried blood between his fingers. His eyes bounced off the items scattered around. It was a lot. 

“They took samples. The forensic lab is usually a week or more into a backlog, so they probably don’t know yet. We figured it was a pig’s blood.”

Benny licked his fingers and made a disgusted face. “Yeah. Dried and reconstituted with hot tap water.” He spat, running his tongue over his teeth, hoping to scrape off the taste. Cold blood bags weren’t the most satisfying meal, but this stuff was a whole new level of nasty. “Do you think you can get me the crime scene photos? Something’s wrong here but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Charge your damn phone, man.”

“Sure thing.” Benny glanced up at the sky. “Walk me home?” Navigating the tunnels alone was a foolish idea, but he didn’t want to be in the open when the sun came.

“I’ll escort you, but I’m not coming in for a drink.” Gary scratched at the bald patch on his head. “Wouldn’t want to send mixed signals and all.” 

The witch shop was off the beaten path in more ways than one. It was nestled in one of the newest development, away from the historical heart of the city, for one. It looked like a new-age front for some mafia money laundering, for another. The majority of the store was crowded with smiling porcelain angels and self-help books mixed with some white-magic 101 manuals. A large section of the wall to the left was taken by gimmick items, parchments with meanings of first names and polished stones sold as dragon eggs. The incense that burnt in a thin plume of white smoke was the real deal however: white sage for purity and protection. 

“We’re closed!” said a voice muffled by the full thickness door that led to the back of the shop. 

“Door was unlocked.” Benny closed the door behind himself and threw the lock, turning the ‘we’re open’ sign as he did. “And I thought you said it was always open for me, chère?”he asked over his shoulder.

“Benny?” AJ stepped out of the backstore, leaving the door open behind her. “Of course we’re always open for you. You should have called, I’d have freshened up.” she reached up to place a kiss on his cheek, with a hand on his shoulder to help her lift high enough.

“There’s no need for that, kitten,” he said, wrapping both hands around her and lifting her off the floor easily in a playful twirl. The long curls of her auburn brown hair flew behind her and she shook them back into place when she returned to ground. If he took a few seconds more to breathe in the clean lemon and cedar scent that hung close to her skin, she didn’t seem to mind.

“Well come on, you didn’t come all the way out here from the trinkets.” She led him further into the store, pulling at his sleeve. He smiled softly as she did. AJ had never been scared of him, though she had seen through his pretending the first time they met. It was refreshing, someone who turned their back to him without macho posturing. “So tell me,” she said, “what do you need?” 

The backroom was all business. Most walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with an iron wrought bookcase. The tomes and their silver-linked chains made the oak shelves buckle and bend. AJ hopped on the desk that divided the space. It was more like a table, equally useful for sewing or as an altar. 

“I need your eyes on something.” Benny pulled a brown paper envelope from the inner pocket of his coat and handed it over. 

“Oooh, goodies!” AJ opened the envelope with the glee of a kid a Christmas and spilled the photographs unto her lap. She sorted them into piles as she looked at them. “When did you start working as consultant for a tv show?” she asked, confused, once she had been through the stack.

“That bad?”

“Well you have conflicting calls-to-actions and at least three different schools of magic going on here. The cardinal orientation is all wrong, half the sigils look very striking but mean nothing… I mean, even the body was staged in layers. A proper sacrifice is… messy.” She moved her hand around in an arc in front of her. “Even with a willing victim, you’re gonna get spurts.” 

“I was afraid of that,” Benny ran a hand over his face, resisting the urge to sigh. “So there’s no chance this mishmash worked for anyone?”

“Maybe something demon-related? Some narcissistic display for their host?”

“Demons aren’t that sentimental about their meat suits. Plus there wasn’t any sulphur.”

“In that case…” She picked up two of the photographs. “Can I keep these? Taken separately they might have worked but hoodoo isn’t my forte. I’ll float them around and give you a call if anything comes up?” 

“Aww kitten, that’s why you’re my favourite.” 

“So, what I don’t get,” said Gary between mouthfuls, “is why something would go through all this trouble.”

He had a take-out container on the table, about the size Benny used to pack side-salads at the café. The squeaky white polyester contrasted sharply with the sticky juices as he ate. He was shape-shifting at the same time, uneven like a bad collage from a stalker’s photograph collection. The tip of one ear, the angle of his nose. The lower half of an ocular socket.

“I can feel you staring, dude. Didn’t your mama tell you it was rude?”

“Sorry,” said Benny, forcing himself to look away. “It’s just… you usually just snap into your other bodies.”

“New course.” Gary licked his fingers as he spoke, the suet sausage digits smoothing out and getting longer as he did. “Always an adjustment period.”

“How do you do the hair and the—” Benny made circles around his own face with a hand, not even pretending he wasn’t staring anymore. “—personal grooming?” 

“Magic”. He made jazz hands as he answered, grinning widely with teeth that were getting whiter and brighter against the quickly darkening of his skin. “Some of it is genetics and boring science. A lot of it is… self-perception? How the person saw themselves?” He paused. “Which means sometimes you get surprises. Nothing like surprise genitalia to just _ruin_ a look.” 

“I won’t ask.” 

“Who says I was gonna tell? Anyways, I’m almost out of my regular. And I figured I could go for something with a bit more cardio.” He closed the container and patted his stomach in a pantomime of satisfaction. “I’ll need new threads, but that’s alright.”

Benny eyed him up and down. “I probably have a couple things that’d fit you.” He tapped his fingers on the table, just so the sound of his nails would break the silence in the technically-vacant apartment. “And you’re right. It makes no sense. Your people would have eaten the lot, same with a rugaru. A nest wouldn’t be that brazen. It ain’t a witch…”

“Anything bigger wouldn’t have bothered with the set dressing.” Gary slapped Benny’s shoulder as he got up. “I think we need a professional opinion. Drop the key off when you leave, will you? This house watching gig is sweet, I don’t want to lose it.” He walked away and closed the door behind him.

Benny waited until the much lighter, younger, footfall hit the sidewalk and stopped echoing as he turned around the building. He was stalling.

The cellphone chirped as it booted, a smooth meaningless jingle drowned out by alerts and notification fighting for attention. Several missed called from Gary. A few alerts from newspapers: what could be animal attacks or sloppy locals in need of a cleanup or an attitude readjustment. Spam emails and newsletter that promised miracle pills or doorbuster savings and needed batch deletion. 

His contact list was sparse: he didn’t have that many friends. There was only one entry in the “D”s. Benny waited as the call connected, ringing a few times. 

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice was gruff, the way it got when he was irritated and a bit out of breath. 

Benny nearly fumbled the phone, surprised. He had fully expected it to go to voicemail, or for the number to be disconnected. “This a bad time? I need to pick your brain ‘bout a situation I have.” 

“Gotta make it quick. I’m kinda in the middle of something. _Someone_ thought it was a good idea to mix Grandma’s ashes with a batch of clay and kiln fire the whole thing. Know what doesn’t burn? Porcelain.” 

He told him, about the murders and the cover-ups, and all the things he knew weren’t behind the case. It took a few minutes, cut a few times by Dean suddenly muffling the cell against his chest or his hand, barking orders at someone. Probably at Sam. Sam who got to be there and hunt with him because his handshake was bloodwarm instead of grave cold.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, man. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a grade-A crazy human. Not exactly our wheelhouse.”

“What do you reckon I can do about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t do _people_. Call the cops I guess. If it’s a serial killer type, get the FBI in.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing.” He allowed a playful edge in his tone, hoping to bait the same out of Dean. “You’ve the suit and the badge.” 

“The real feds, smartass.” Dean’s answer dripped with annoyance. 

Benny shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, it was always a fool’s gambit. 

Before any of them could add a word, there was a loud thump in the background, like someone — approximately 6’4” and built out of muscles and hair — being thrown into a wall and choked. 

“Sammy?” Dean screamed, and just like that, he was gone. 

He might have been a town or a state away, but it might have been a world. There was a threshold to Dean’s life Benny couldn’t cross, there was no place for him out of the lines that had been drawn by others. 

Eventually, the screen turned black and Benny sat alone in the empty apartment for a long time. He locked the door behind him, as he left. 

The phone’s ringtones was a confused cascade of joyful high pitched notes. Benny didn’t remember exactly who had picked this one, only that it had been in jest and that he had never figured out how to change it. It sounded neon-coloured and bubbly, if sounds were paintings. The fabric that covered the windows of the camper was opaque enough to stop the light from hurting, but let enough show that he could guess the time. The sun had set, but Benny could tell it wasn’t night proper, not for another hour or so. The twilight felt itchy: it belonged to the wrong set of gods. 

“Hello?” he said, once he managed to press the screen enough for the noise to stop.

“Oh gosh, I am so sorry to wake you up. It’s worth it I swear.” AJ’s voice sounded thin through the slight static of the phone. She also sounded over excited and on about six cups of coffee. 

Benny pulled the phone away from his face to squint at the time display. “It’s alright, kitten. Alarm was just about to ring.” He pulled at his eyes, trying to get them to stay open. As much as he loved the pre-dawn hours, he hated waking up. “What do you have for me?” 

“Can you get here? I’d rather show you.”

Benny groaned and rolled over to reach for the cooler. It stood as empty as he had left it. Interesting nights meant his routines tended to slip. “I gotta make a few runs first, but I can head over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got you all covered. Just head on over. At your earliest convenience and all that.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’d make a fine drill sergeant?”

“Once or twice. Don't make me order you to do push-ups, Lafitte.” A second voice spoke behind her, too softly for the phone to pick up properly. AJ giggled at whatever had been said and added “See you soon!” before hanging up. 

Driving through the city so early in the day put Benny on edge at the best of times. It was too busy, the flow of bright red tail lights pulsing through the buildings and reflecting off glass and the chrome of other cars. As if the drivers were the lifeblood of a sprawling concrete and steel creature, forking off avenues and into neighbourhoods, like arteries spilling into arterioles and webbing into capillaries. 

He was so hungry. 

The store signed was flipped to display the sorrowful “we’re closed” message, but the door was unlocked. Benny let himself in, wincing at the high pitch twinkle of the bells that announced his presence. The mixed smell of all the scented candles and incense stick hit him, almost physically painful and made his vision turn grey around the edges. He’d described it once as a full body migraine, the bloodlust, and Dean had nodded and clasped his shoulder without saying anything, squeezing so that the sensation would be grounding. There was someone with AJ in the backroom, their heartbeat loud, steady, and out of synch. 

“Wow, you weren't kidding when you said he sounded rough.” The voice was amused, tobacco deep and coming from across the room. 

Benny opened his eyes, though he didn’t know when he had closed them. A woman was leaning over the counter, weight barely resting on her forearms and her wrists crossed nonchalantly. An aura of power surrounded her, and Benny doubted that — even with all his speed — he would be able to land the first blow. The smooth ebony of her skin contrasted with the soft pinks and purples of her dress. Her left arm was covered with some herb and honey-based poultice, pungent and sticky and applied with care over the thin skin of her inner arm as if covering a knife wound. Several strings of cowrie shells looped around her neck and shoulders, smooth and white like bones. One was resting on her pulse point, and it glinted as it moved minutely. 

“But he’s trying so hard, you see. He’s such a dear.” AJ crossed the space, carrying a brightly painted bowl. The contents sloshed a bit as she walked and Benny found it impossible to look at anything else. “Here. It’ll help, then we can talk properly.” 

Red flowery fractal patterns swirled over the glossy ceramic, brighter than the content inside. The bowl itself was cool to the touch, but as he brought it up to his lips, he moaned, loudly. The blood was body warm and fresh. It hadn’t been denatured by plastics and refrigeration, or the inherent sterility of modern medicine. He slurped loudly, uncaring in the moment of how much of a spectacle he was making of himself. For the first time since he’d crawled out of his grave, for the first time since before being put there, he felt warm. His skin flushed as the blood spread through him in a hazy red glow.

“There, isn’t that better?” asked AJ. “I have a handkerchief for you.” 

As she said it Benny realized he’d been trying to lick the remains of the bowl, growling softly. He blushed and took the napkin, removing the blood from his lips and beard. “I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

“Think nothing of it,” said the woman. “That was a sight to behold.” 

“Told you!” AJ beamed, looking for all the world like a cat that got both the cream and the canary. “Where are my manners. Benny, this is _Iyalawo_ Oyinlola. Lola, this is my friend Benny Lafitte. He’s the one who brought me the photographs.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Benny, shaking the offered hand. “And I guess I should thank you, for the meal.” 

“It was a fitting sacrifice. There are bigger things to worry about.” 

“Lola was pretty unimpressed by the mess your killer made of things.”

“Mess? It’s an outright insult to the Orishas. From the misuse of symbols to the falsified offerings. There is no aché in any of it, no passion, only malice and selfishness.” Oyinlola shook her head. “AJ was right to call. There was no way I could let things stand.”

“So we got our head together and made some magic happen.” 

Benny looked between the two of them. “The results were good?” 

Oyinlola handed him a folded piece of paper. “His address. I’d rather you don’t kill him, keep my hands clean?” 

“I ain’t planning to.” He shrugged helplessly. “Kinda under oath not to, actually.”

“Wonderful. Let’s find a way to nail the bastard.”


	2. Chapter 2

Where the flooding from the hurricanes was still present in the poorer (less desirable) areas, Lakewood was almost pristine. Insurance money had poured in, buoying a small army of contractors and repairs. If not for the odd stick thin tree, there would have been no trace of the damages at all. The pale stone facades had been power washed and the wood trim painted, as had the cobblestone streets. It gave Benny a strange sense of disassociation as if the neighbourhood was as unmoored in time as he was.

The house the _Iyalawo_ ’s divination had found was grand, what would have once been called an estate if it hadn't been built less than 100 years ago on what used to be a golf course. Still, the Tudor styling and the sharp slopes of the roof gave the house presence and mass. It was only a shame there were no convenient hedges to hide behind and the shrubbery was too low, carefully manicured into useless balls of foliage.

The state of the art security system didn't help either. 

His first reconnaissance trip had been cut short by motion activated flood lights and Benny had retreated hastily. Even now, with the heavy weight of the hex-bag against his chest, he was cautious as he rounded the two car garage. AJ had assured him that cameras couldn't capture him while under her spell, but technology and magic were always fickle. The door didn't have a deadbolt and was easy to shimmy open. Interior designer services had clearly been extended to the garage itself. Everything was organized and colour-coded, in a plastic stagnant way that screamed how no actual work ever got done at any of the workstations. 

There were no light switches: evidently the motion sensors linked into some overall house running system. Benny closed the door behind him carefully. When nothing whirred to life he stepped into the space with more confidence. The first car was beautiful, gunmetal grey and made of modern aerodynamic curves. It carried the smells of faded perfumes and stale coffee, along with layers of dry cleaning solvents. A workday car. 

The second one was larger, sleek black and utterly common. Benny was pretty sure that most people wouldn’t be able to describe it except as a black SUV. The averageness was so strong that any details slipped from the mind like water through a sieve. This one had moss and incense in the wheel well, waxy residue on the passenger seat and the rotten iron and copper of dried blood. Human blood, mixed with tears and snot. Benny noted down the plate as well as the make and model and let himself back out into the night. 

Finding a phone around the cemetery proved to be the hardest thing. He didn’t want to call from his own number, for fear of being traced. But the ubiquitous cell phones had pushed the phone booth towards extinction, as surely as any evolutionary stressor could. Be that as it may, Benny had absorbed enough police procedure through TV osmosis to bother with at least pretending he was a plausible eyewitness. He found a baker on his cigarette break who let him in for a folded bill and some company in the early hours. Making the call was tedious and boring. Benny pressed numbers as the recorded voice presented him with options and menus, running into dead ends a few times because he wasn’t quite fast enough or because the language was misleading. 

He stayed around long enough to help the baker with kneading and shaping some cinnamon rolls. It was only a fair payment. 

“ _My dude_ ,” read the text message, “ _you are not going to believe this_.” 

Benny squinted at the screen as the attached image loaded. The notification was several hours old, but he figured if it had been urgent there would have been more than one. Gary was standing in his best imitation of an infomercial presentation pose, the hand that wasn’t holding his phone extended flat to showcase a pile of twisted metal and mangled plastics. The bright noon sun hit the layers of paint, making them spark and shift in bright colours. Reds and blues and pearlescent whites and a dark thin layer. It would have looked like abstract art, if not for the grinning ghoul and the smears of hydraulic fluids.

“ _That shirt looks like a unicorn barfed over it and yet you bought it?_ ” Benny answered. He had to get ready for work and wasn’t in the mood for mind games.

“ _Ha-Fucking-Ha. The car, look at the car_.”

Benny took another look at the picture. The black line would be roughly the length of the average SUV. “ _Son of a bitch_ ”. 

If Emeline was concerned by the sudden influx of regulars on Benny’s shift she didn’t speak a word about it. It made it hard to close the café early. Oyinlola smoothly proposed to drive her home, solving the issue. It allowed her to make sure she was safe, as the one condition Benny had put on turning a three of the corner tables into a makeshift war room. That, and a minimum of one order per head, to keep up appearances. Not that he should have worried, between the witches’ love affair with caffeine and Gary’s apparent bottomless thirst for the cheapest pre-mixed hot chocolate (without the milk). They also went through a surprisingly high count of sweet starchy things, enough that he had to actually work as they strategized.

After the car fiasco, they had tried to find more actionable proofs or evidence for the cops to follow-up on. A combination of further divination and good-old boot leather had given them the last known location of the victims, and a few people who should have been there. All of whom strangely became unavailable, on vacation or sudden business trips.

Gary rallied the ghouls and they had come up with a list of cameras with potential footage in record time. A lot of the mausoleums had private security above and beyond what the grounds offered. Many of those cameras had vanished, in the days following Benny’s now routine call to the tipline. 

AJ thought the cinnamon rolls were worth it. 

“What does it take for the cops to take anything seriously?” Oyinlola said as she walked in. Her long skirt billowed as if the fabric itself was being lifted by her anger. “Isn’t there a point where they call in the actually competent badges?”

“Three dead,” answered Benny. “It’s usually the point where they know they have a serial killer on their hand.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re officially past that.” Gary stretched and turned his phone to the others. “Swipe through. Found 20 minutes ago.” 

“How do you even know all these people, man?” Benny asked, wiping his hands on his apron before grabbing the phone. Gary laughed and answered something pity and lighthearted, but Benny barely heard him. The newest victim was lying on her back, eyes unseeing staring up at the sky. Blood pooled around her, swirling down the one arm that was not folded to modestly cover her breasts. The fingers of both hands were extended as a claw, in a depiction of rage against an ineluctable end. 

AJ grabbed the phone and swiped a few times. “Yep, same guy. I mean, most people _are_ aware that the Lovecraft body of work is fiction, right? The Necronomicon doesn’t actually exist.” She passed the phone to Oyinlola, pointing at the intricate design painted on the side of a crypt, in a space cleared of kudzu so recently it still bore the green shadow of the leaves. 

“There was glitter in the paint of that one,” said Gary. His tone was somewhere midway in the disgust to awe spectrum. “Very fine orange and red glitter.”

“He probably staged for the sunset,” Benny said. “The sky’s still light on the pictures, and the blood’s still wet. Body wasn’t found too long after he left.”

“The colours were probably the point,” agreed AJ. “He’s doing it for the aesthetics, I don’t think he was actually trying for magic this round.”

“I don’t care why this castrated pig does anything he does, including breathing. What I care about is why no one’s stopping him.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, with neither daring to meet the other’s eye. Benny coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “The calls aren’t working. Got a suggestion for a plan B?” 

“I have an idea. Get me a… secluded, interior space within the next hour.” Oyinlola turned to AJ and added, “I could use a spotter.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Gary. He waited until both witches were out of earshot before adding, “That is one scary lady. I like her.”

“Of course you do.”

The room was in the back of a night club, though the only door was from the alley, and even that was camouflaged amongst the layers of glued posters and spray painted manifestos. The walls were painted in a matte black, the floors were cement and epoxy. It could have been anywhere, save for the bone-rattling bass of the music. It bled through the walls and made the ground vibrate along with each beat. It would cover any noise from the room itself. Benny didn’t know who had first brought it up, but there were questions best left unanswered as one dug deeper into the city’s underbelly.

A single wooden chair was in the middle of the room, illuminated from half a dozen glow sticks thrown around like seeds unto a fallow field. They cast conflicting neon shadows in their foggy glow. Benny secured the ropes around the dazed man sitting on the chair, with the ease of practice, cinching everything with a solid pull. He would need a knife to undo the knots, but there would be no escaping. He brushed his hands together. The earthy smell of the raw hemp clung to his skin nonetheless.

“You ladies want to wake him up now?”

Oyinlola made a sound between a sign and a disgusted spit, then snapped her fingers twice. If Benny hadn’t been standing so close he would have missed it. The man on the chair startled, taking a few deep breaths in fear and confusion. He tried to get up, but the lines held his arms taut behind him, crossing around his chest and stomach. The legs had been secured at the knees and ankles as well. There was a possibility of scooting the chair around — or making it tip over — but Oyinlola had been adamant in her rejection of anything iron-based to be used as a restraint. It meant no cuffs and no way to bolt the chair to the floor.

“What? Who the _fuck_ are you people?” asked the man, once he was done squirming and flexing. The words were quick huffs of breath, pushed through panic by sheer spite.

“Who we are doesn’t matter,” said AJ. “You are Detective Nicholas Boyle, badge number B26354. You’re in charge of the graveyard killer investigation.”

“And,” Oyinlola cut in, stepping forward so she could be better seen in the fractionned light, “you’ve been doing a piss poor job at it.” She crouched so that she could look him on his level. If Benny didn’t know better, he would have said her eyes were demon black in that moment. “You’re going to tell us why.” 

“Like hell I’m going to tell some freak anything. Where the fuck am I anyway?” He craned his neck to looks around the room. Then his eyes grew unfocused and his voice uncertain. “I was home, having dinner…” The introspective waver vanished, under renewed rage “What did you motherfuckers do to my wife and kids?”

“Absolutely nothing, who the fuck do you take us for?” AJ replied. “As far as they’re concerned, you came here of your own free will. Won’t even report you missing.”

“How ‘bout I give this a try, ladies?” Benny asked. He circled around the chair and waited for Oyinlola to give him space. “Alright, let’s start this over.”

“What? You the good cop? Truss me up like a fucking turkey and now I’m supposed to trust you because you told some bitch to go away?” The first wave of panic had washed over him, leaving room for his training and experience to take over. 

“Hell nah. You’re tied for your protection as much as ours. Lots of tempers running hot and wouldn’t want anyone to do something they’d regret.”

Gary whistled, high and somehow sardonic. “Speak for yourself, fang boy. I’ve got perfect self-control.”

“Not helping, Gary.” Benny shook his head and chuckled. “See, what I don’t get is that I know you know who this killer is. I’ve been calling in with everything save a RSVP card to go get his ass.” 

Boyle narrowed his eyes, focusing on Benny with a suspicious tilt of his head. “You’re the anonymous tipper.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. 

“That I am.”

“And you know who’s killed these people?”

“I thought I’d made that clear.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you doing anything about it?”

Benny knew he was probably looking like an idiot, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. That had not been anywhere near the realm of possible answers he had considered. “Why aren’t we doing anything… I gotta say, that’s the first time I ever heard someone advocating for outright murder.” He raised a hand to stall the objections from the rest of the group. “A regular law enforcement officer,” he amended.

“Nice save there,” said AJ. 

Boyle strained to get a good look at her before refocusing on Benny. “Yeah. That’s reassuring. I’m gonna do you a favour and pretend you didn’t say any of that.” He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek and lip. “You want the truth? I know who that motherfucker is. And I can’t touch a hair of his perfectly styled head.”

“Cant? Or Won’t?” Benny dropped to a crouch, balancing with three fingers on the floor. He knew he’d fill Boyle’s field of vision and help him focus. 

“Can’t. Don’t you think I tried? Some good people died. I had to tell the latest victim’s kids what happened to their mom, for fuck’s sake. You really believe I wanted to do that?” He shook his head. When he spoke again the anger had dissipated, replaced by a mix of resignation and lassitude. “The bastard is protected. Like. Heavily protected, can’t touch him without losing my shield and my pension. I’d probably end up taking a long walk off a short pier for my troubles too.” 

“So, if some concerned citizen were to… have a heart to heart talk with him, you wouldn’t be overly distressed?” Benny smirked as he talked, letting the unsaid threats roll off him along with the euphemisms. 

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Hell, I’d be delighted, not that I could tell anybody.”

“We should have done this ages ago,” said Oyinlola and she snapped her fingers again. 

Benny watched as the detective’s eyes became vacant, open but unseeing like glass or a mannequin’s. “That’s a useful trick.” 

“Can’t use it too often, it’s easy for that kind of control to get addictive.” She waved Gary away from the door and stepped out. “Cut him loose, he’ll find his own way home.”

Making someone disappear wasn’t the hard part. Even in the most regimented life — in the most expensive illusion of safety — there were cracks. There were moments where one was alone, or with their guard down, falling forward with perfect trust into a fair world convinced that they would be caught. It was only ever more complicated when the person knew how to move around in those same cracks, either by trade or because they had a taste of the kill. 

Making someone disappear who was all of the above — and deserved a slightly more custom death than a bullet to the brain — was hard enough to become a challenge. 

It had taken a little bit of work and a generous spread of money to get the plan moving. They wanted something quick because there was no sense in letting another body join the list. In the end they’d narrowed it down to a wedding, a high-class affair held in the heart of the French Quarter. The bridal party had rented out the House of Blues, the whole thing, for their big day. Benny wished them well, but he was frankly more interested in the transport pool to and out of the event. It hadn’t taken much to convince the driver to hand over his keys. Not much at all.

The car was uncomfortable. The padding of the driver’s seat had long ago given up, turning into an uneven bumpy mess that dug into the small of Benny’s back. He figured it could have been worse, there could have been the lingering scent of patchouli or bile instead of industrial cleaner and leather conditioner. Benny drummed his fingers on the wheel, following the music that wafted from the bars amongst the sports-inspired cries, waiting for his mark. He had to admit, if only to himself and in silence, that he’d missed this. Missed marking a prey and stalking it, missed the chase. He didn’t intend on backing out of his promise, but there had to be a middle ground. 

The doors opened and the line of car inched forward. Groups of reveler, drunk and happy, split into the vehicles to be taken away to the secondary reception. There was a campground reserved for the group, outside the city, where bonfires and fire dancing was scheduled to happen. All he had to do was wait. 

He’d just waved some of the other drivers forward before the man stepped out. Benny knew his name — had learnt a lot about him during the impromptu investigation into his life — but had decided it didn’t matter. He was the killer, the castrated pig, the mark… he was nothing and would be remembered as exactly that. Benny didn’t want him to gain the mystique of the martyrs and the popular. There would be no books about him, no podcasts, no deep-dive television mini-series. Not if he could help it. 

The mark followed a pretty woman in a sparkling dress so short it probably had an identity crisis whenever it saw a shirt. They took the car in front of his, the man’s mouth leaving trails of slobber upon her neck. It didn’t matter. They were all going to the same place, in the end.

“You don’t look like a Jean-Enock,” said the elderly woman who took a seat behind him, waiting for her companions to pile in as well. The heavy rose perfume they all wore was giving Benny a sinus headache, but at least they were all dressed with more than a square inch of fabric and weren’t smooching each other.

“Jean was sick,” said Benny. “I’m covering for him so he can still get an anniversary gift for his wife this year.” 

“That’s sweet of you. Are you married yourself?”

Benny pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic, wondering what it was that removed all social filters from people when they were in cars. “Almost. My fiancé and I had a falling out, so we never went through with the ceremony.”

“Oh, what a shame. You seem like a lovely young man. Janice, didn’t you have a niece who’s single? She could use a sweet man in her life.” 

“Oh no, Robert’s went travelling to find herself, two years ago. Last we heard she was somewhere in Laos or Thailand. Liam’s daughter, on the other hand, just broke up with that no good boyfriend of hers.”

Benny smiled. He wasn’t aiming to get matched with anyone, but falling into harmless small talk with three older ladies was easy. They meant no harm and it was flattering to let them fuss over him.

The campground was one of the smaller ones, with a gravel covered main area that lead to a strip of sand that served as a beach. Benny helped his passengers out of the car, declining their offers to set-up a blind date. “It’s not a bother at all,” they said in one voice as they giggled and waved him goodbye. He parked closest to the exit; if things went according to plan, he wouldn’t be staying long.

Benny found a good place to keep an eye on the mass of people. They ignored him, just another face in a crowd filled with too many strangers. Finding the mark didn’t take too long. He’d dragged the young woman away from the light of the bonfires and the festivities, behind the solid cover of one of the cabins. She was pinned against the faux-wood vinyl siding, with the man running his hands under the shimmery fabric of her dress. He was leaving drunken slobbering open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck. From the look she threw Benny when he crossed into her line of sight, it had stopped being fun or titillating a long while ago. 

“The bride’s looking for ya, chère,” Benny said, “why don’t you run along to see what she wants.” 

“Ah come on, it can’t be that urgent. She just got _married_ , after all.” He slurred a few of the words, turning to look at Benny with one eye, nuzzling against her chest like a cankerous cat. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” said Benny, with a friendly shrug and spreading his hands in a universal _‘what can you do’_ signal.

“Look, what the fuck’s your problem pal?” The man turned, anger written on his face. He kept his arms on either side of the girl’s head, caging her in with his body. 

Benny could smell the alcohol on her but much less on him, save for a splash that had soaked the lapel of his jacket, Any inebriation had been a ruse, or he burnt through the booze faster than normal. 

“No problem, no problem at all.” He grabbed at the man’s shoulder and _squeezed_ , pulling him back as he did. The man hissed in pain. Benny smirked and he looked at the girl. “Run along, now.”

She nodded and straightened her clothes, picking up her shoes as she walked away as fast as she could without running.

“Listen, pal, I don’t know who you are, and you obviously don’t know who I am.” The man twisted as he spoke to try and get into Benny’s face. He was also digging in his heels and fighting with the same futility as a dog protesting before the vet’s door. “You’re going to let me go right now, or you’re going to be into so much trouble you’ll just wish you were dead.”

“Sure,” said Benny as he increased the pressure in his hand. He knew he could snap the man’s collar bone if he kept going. A part of him really wanted to. “But first we’re going to take a walk. You’re going to come quietly and without much of a fuss, or I’m gonna carry you. Makes no difference to me.”

“Like hell, I’m going anywhere with you.” The man’s voice went from petulant to pompously angry, gaining in volume with every word. “Get your hands off—”

“Thank you for saying that,” interrupted Benny. He spun the man using the leverage he already had, catching him with an arm under his chin and pressing down. He waited for the man to go slack in his arms, eyes rolled back from the lack of oxygen. “I was really hoping you’d go for option B.” 

They were several hours away from the campground when the man woke up. He groaned a few times, trying to sit up.

“What the fuck?” he rasped, voice messed from the chokehold and muffled by the blanket Benny had thrown over him. 

“How much further?” asked Benny, with a glance at the clock. Sunlight didn’t make him catch fire, despite Hollywood’s best effects team. But it was uncomfortable and they would be cutting it close already. 

“Not much. I can drive if you need me to.” Oyinlola leaned on the window, looking at the liquid landscape of the bayou as it flowed pass them in amorphous blotches of green and blacks. The headlights carved a path for them on the darker backdrop of the asphalt, highlighting the hanging tendrils of the spanish moss hanging for the oaks and cypresses. 

“On the way back I’d appreciate if you would.” He pointed to the backseat with his thumb. “It’ll be my turn for a nap.”

“Least I can do. You agreed to my terms after all.” She rolled her neck and straightened up. “Right here, after the curb”

“ _Hello_? Are you assholes just gonna ignore me? Let me go right now and I might play nice with you and only ruin the big boy’s life.”

Benny eased off the road and into the soft earth of the bank, coming to a slow stop a few feet from the water. “It’s no trouble at all, chère. It’s your Orisha that was insulted. I’m happy to help right things. I don’t often get the chance.”

“Oh is that what’s that about?” asked the man, mocking. “A couple of dead _whores_ who weren’t worth more than their life insurance? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

“You’ve the rope?” Benny asked, getting out of the car. The backdoor barely creaked as he opened it.

“And the cane knife, yes”

“Knife? What the fuck do you think you’re doing—” The end of his sentence was swallowed by a gasp as Benny shoved the man out of the car, using the industrial zip-ties that bound his arms behind his back as handholds. “Come on, man, we can work this out. I’m sorry for what I said, let’s just talk this out like civilized men, ok?”

“That is quite enough of that,” said Oyinlola. She emptied a small fabric pouch into her hand and blew the sparkling powder into the man’s face. His jaw fell slack and his tongue hung uselessly from his mouth. “I’m sorry. Did you care for the begging and for whatever grand reasons he had behind the murders?”

“Not really.” He removed his hat and stripped out of his jacket and dress shirt. “It’s always the same noise. You’re going to want to step back for this. No reason for the both of us to get dirty.”

Later, when the last of the alligators had rolled back under the brackish water, they cleaned up with the quiet efficiency of routine. The sun rose over the bayou, mixing soft peaches and pinks over the rippling water and chasing them as they left. Benny curled under the blanket, trying to ignore how it smelt of fear and a little bit of urine. He’d have to detail the car, before giving it back. 

A hand on his shoulder woke him. 

“Your phone is ringing, it might be important.”

Benny grabbed the offered phone and rolled back under the blanket. “Yeah?”

“Hey, is this a bad time? I’m a couple of time zones away and on enough pain meds to make the math hard.” Dean’s voice, smooth, relaxed. Smiling. “Didn’t hear back from you, so I was wondering if you solved that case.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, all taken care of.” He swallowed around the hard ball in his throat. Around the guilt of lying to Dean, by omission if not bald-faced. 

“That’s good, man, that’s real good. Hey listen, I’m gonna be off my game with a busted knee for a couple week. I could get Sam to split, come down for a visit?” Dean paused and Benny could almost hear the teasing lick on his lips. The way his eyes would drop, just a tad. “Come and talk to you in the flesh, if you promise to be gentle with me.”

“I… I’d like that. Let me know if you can make it.” Benny dropped his voice, not to a whisper, but talking softly. He was selfish, didn’t want to share this conversation with the priestess in the front seat. “I’ve missed you,” he added.

Benny wondered if it had been the right thing to do. Letting the murders go one hadn’t been a choice and mortal authorities had made it clear they wouldn’t intervene. And it wasn’t like he had eaten the bastard, just cause him to get eaten, once he was already dead. Spirit of the law, vs the letter of the law. Dean would understand. He wasn’t above bending a few rules himself.

“Yeah, me too. Listen, these pills are the good stuff, I’m dead on my back here. I’ll call you from the road in a day or two, ok?” 

“Ok.” The line went dead before he could say more.

After a few minutes, Oyinlola’s voice reached him. She was still driving, not even looking back at him. “Whenever you decide you’re ready, you’ll not be alone. You hear me?”

He knew. He had cards with Gary and visits with AJ. Night shifts at the café et and the quiet workings of the in-human undercity around him. It didn’t warm the absence by his side. Not quite.

Not yet. 


End file.
